falling snow; to get one drink he’d had to lap at the ice covering the green stream below the ridge. Deer were nothing more than hide and bone; owls were silent. And then, just when it seemed winter was over, and the bears had already emerged from their dens, there was a sudden early-spring storm. The black wolf, nearly crippled by arthritis in his legs and spine, froze to death half a mile from home.
When they found him, the big dog pulled at her own fur until she bled. She paced back and forth in front of the black wolfs body until the ice cut the pads of her feet. She took off, by herself, and didn’t come back till morning, though her new pups, now fatherless, whimpered in their den and went hungry. When the big dog returned, she seemed confused. Every evening at dusk she went off, they could hear her singing, but the song was so lonely no one dared to answer. For days she didn’t eat or drink, but she continued to nurse the new pups, three silver males whose hunger was never satisfied. The big dog was old, though she was the same age as Stephen; her teeth were worn down to nubs and she limped. After only a few months, when the air had turned blue and summer was at its height, she lay down in a patch of sunlight and stopped moving altogether.
That evening Stephen went off by himself. He climbed high on the ridgetop, and when his brothers down below called to him mournfully, begging him to return, he just climbed higher. He had never once cried, not when he was cut or hungry or sick, but he cried now and he could not stop. It did not seem possible for the world to exist without the big dog, and yet it did. He waited for the world to end, nearly starving, tearing out his hair, and in the morning he went back to his brothers. Suffering did not stop the clouds from appearing in the east, it didn’t change the sound of the wind in the trees, or the hunger you felt, or the thirst you would always have.
When Stephen reached the side of the bed, Old Dick covered his face with his hands. Stephen sat down anyway, in the chair beside the window. The glass was smudged, making it impossible to tell the true color of the leaves on the trees. Stephen raised the window higher. At first the green leaves seemed tinted yellow, but it was only the bees; they could hear them now, a low constant hum. Ginny had rushed back to the bedroom. When she saw Old Dick crying, she threw her hands up.
“Look what you’ve done!” she said, but Robin motioned her to be quiet.
A sparrow had come to the window ledge. Its song was so common that Robin had never listened before. She had never even heard it. Old Dick peeked out from behind his hands. Every breath he took was a shudder, every breath hurt. Stephen put his palm down flat on the ledge. The sparrow had flown the length of the island just that morning; its nest was in a cherry tree, in the tallest branches. If the sparrow knew that nothing lasted forever, would it still sing? Would it still build its nest with the same exact pieces of twine and straw? Old Dick, who could not read past the newspaper headlines, suddenly saw that there was salt on the bird’s wings. Its beak was stained red from the cherries it had eaten only minutes before. The sparrow hopped onto the back of Stephen’s hand, and then it flew away so quickly it was back in its nest, way on the north side of the island, before Robin had served her grandfather his first piece of pie.
People in town got used to the sight of him running. Every evening, as she walked home from the recreation center where she was a counselor in training, Jenny Altero waved to him as she turned the corner onto Cemetery Road, and he always waved back. Dogs out in the backyards began to bark all at once, and their fierce echo could be heard across the island. How fast Stephen ran was a matter of debate. Boys on bicycles couldn’t keep up with him. Cars stopped at red lights had no chance of overtaking him once he’d hit his stride. Roy
When they found him, the big dog pulled at her own fur until she bled. She paced back and forth in front of the black wolfs body until the ice cut the pads of her feet. She took off, by herself, and didn’t come back till morning, though her new pups, now fatherless, whimpered in their den and went hungry. When the big dog returned, she seemed confused. Every evening at dusk she went off, they could hear her singing, but the song was so lonely no one dared to answer. For days she didn’t eat or drink, but she continued to nurse the new pups, three silver males whose hunger was never satisfied. The big dog was old, though she was the same age as Stephen; her teeth were worn down to nubs and she limped. After only a few months, when the air had turned blue and summer was at its height, she lay down in a patch of sunlight and stopped moving altogether.
That evening Stephen went off by himself. He climbed high on the ridgetop, and when his brothers down below called to him mournfully, begging him to return, he just climbed higher. He had never once cried, not when he was cut or hungry or sick, but he cried now and he could not stop. It did not seem possible for the world to exist without the big dog, and yet it did. He waited for the world to end, nearly starving, tearing out his hair, and in the morning he went back to his brothers. Suffering did not stop the clouds from appearing in the east, it didn’t change the sound of the wind in the trees, or the hunger you felt, or the thirst you would always have.
When Stephen reached the side of the bed, Old Dick covered his face with his hands. Stephen sat down anyway, in the chair beside the window. The glass was smudged, making it impossible to tell the true color of the leaves on the trees. Stephen raised the window higher. At first the green leaves seemed tinted yellow, but it was only the bees; they could hear them now, a low constant hum. Ginny had rushed back to the bedroom. When she saw Old Dick crying, she threw her hands up.
“Look what you’ve done!” she said, but Robin motioned her to be quiet.
A sparrow had come to the window ledge. Its song was so common that Robin had never listened before. She had never even heard it. Old Dick peeked out from behind his hands. Every breath he took was a shudder, every breath hurt. Stephen put his palm down flat on the ledge. The sparrow had flown the length of the island just that morning; its nest was in a cherry tree, in the tallest branches. If the sparrow knew that nothing lasted forever, would it still sing? Would it still build its nest with the same exact pieces of twine and straw? Old Dick, who could not read past the newspaper headlines, suddenly saw that there was salt on the bird’s wings. Its beak was stained red from the cherries it had eaten only minutes before. The sparrow hopped onto the back of Stephen’s hand, and then it flew away so quickly it was back in its nest, way on the north side of the island, before Robin had served her grandfather his first piece of pie.
People in town got used to the sight of him running. Every evening, as she walked home from the recreation center where she was a counselor in training, Jenny Altero waved to him as she turned the corner onto Cemetery Road, and he always waved back. Dogs out in the backyards began to bark all at once, and their fierce echo could be heard across the island. How fast Stephen ran was a matter of debate. Boys on bicycles couldn’t keep up with him. Cars stopped at red lights had no chance of overtaking him once he’d hit his stride. Roy
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